


A Perfect Mess

by Saffiaan



Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: (kinda), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Aromantic, Asexual Character, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Overdosing, Past Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Queerplatonic Relationships, Transphobia, Unhealthy Relationships, no one dies, not beta read we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saffiaan/pseuds/Saffiaan
Summary: Matthew makes a mistake, unintentionally influencing everyone around him.---This is part of the same AU as my fic the Holy Groupchat and you definitely need to have read that to understand anything that's going on in here.
Relationships: Apostle James/Simon Zealotes, Jesus Christ/Judas Iscariot, John/Matthew
Comments: 54
Kudos: 9
Collections: Holy Groupchat AU





	1. Missed Messages

**Author's Note:**

> So, while this is part of the Holy Groupchat AU, I'm not quite sure if this is going to officially happen in it, or if it's more a 'thing that could have happened'. I'm leaning towards the first, but it's just something I'll figure out once I figure out what I want to do with the groupchat fic. But until then, enjoy this mess

“Shit.”

James was a fairly light sleeper, but even a heavier sleeper would have woken up from the exclamation. Or at least of the sound that followed, which most closely resembled Simon half jumping and half falling out of bed. James opened his eyes and sat up to see Simon already halfway dressed.

“What’s wrong?” James asked, immediately completely awake. Seeing Simon panicked was a very rare occurrence. James was painfully aware that it wouldn’t happen in a situation that only half deserved it.

Simon didn’t answer, too busy putting on his shoes, but he threw his phone at James. The device was still unlocked, opened on a chat conversation between Simon and Matthew. The last couple of messages had been send by Matthew, receiving no reply because Simon had been asleep. The first one had been sent a couple of hours ago.

**_Matthew:_ ** _Are you still awake? Could use some extra about right now_

Usually, the answer would have been yes. The text hadn’t been sent that late, especially not by Simon’s standards. But due to two late nights with less than four hours of sleep, Simon had already fallen asleep at 8:30. The next text was sent half an hour after the first one. The texts after that had been set at various intervals.

**_Matthew:_ ** _Nevermind, I’ll just get some from the stash_

_One missed call from **Matthew**_

**_Matthew:_ ** _Any chance for being supple with the limit this time?_

_One missed call from **Matthew**_

**_Matthew:_ ** _I may have made a mistake_

**_Matthew:_ ** _Shit, I’m sorry_

By the time James had read all the messages, the last two of which were considerably harder to read than the first, he was already out of bed and pulling on his shoes. He, like Simon, had decided that the sweatpants he had fallen asleep in would work just fine as clothes. “I’ll drive, you should call him.” If Simon had any reservations about James joining him, he didn’t voice those and simply gave a stiff nod.

Within minutes they were seated in the car. James’ phone was passing as GPS after Simon had entered the address. It was a good thing the streets were deserted, because James was having trouble keeping to the speed limit and properly checking roads before crossing them.

The silence that hung in the car after Simon had dialled Matthew’s number hung thick around them. Even James heard it go to voicemail. Simon hung up and tried a second time. The seconds stretched out in silence before once again, the voicemail could be heard. Simon kicked the dashboard in frustration before he hung up and put away his phone. His fingers started drumming on his knee, tension clear in his posture.

“What’s the limit?” James asked after a little while, both to break the silence and distract Simon and because he was curious. He didn’t know an awful lot about Simon’s work. A case of don’t ask the questions you don’t want to know the answers to.

“A rule I have with Matthew. With some others as well,” Simon said after a few seconds. His voice sounded surprisingly calm and steady. A façade, no doubt. “I give him the same amount of alcohol every two weeks and he has to last those two weeks with it. If he wants to drink more because he feels like he needs it, he has to text or call me to get it.”

“And he always gets it?” James asked, unable to keep the hint of disbelieve from his voice.

“Of course. He’s an alcoholic, regardless of what he likes to tell himself. If he wants it, he’s going to get it one way or another.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“Makes it so that he has to think about it at least twice. And he has someone to talk to. It isn’t a perfect system,” James saw Simon shrug, a gesture stiffer than it was supposed to be, “but it works.” The unspoken ‘until now’ was left hanging in the air between them.

James parked in front of the apartment building that his phone has led him to. Even before he had properly turned off the car, Simon had gotten out. James followed him up the building until they stopped in front of one of the many grey doors. James hardly had time to be surprised when Simon took keys out of his pocket with which he opened the door. He had vaguely been aware that Simon owned more keys than he should, but James had never given it a second thought.

As soon as the door opened, the stench of vomit came out to greet them. James followed Simon inside. They followed the smell to a small living room. There Matthew was seated on the couch, his head in one hand, a bottle of what looked to be beer in the other.

“Matt,” Simon said, his voice still calm, though with an underlying steel that proved his discomfort with the situation. Matthew looked up, slowly blinking. It seemed to take him a good couple of seconds to realise that they were there. And who they were. Next to him, James heard Simon utter some curse words under his breath.

“Told you not to bother yourself,” Matthew mumbled while raising the bottle to his mouth.

“Drop the bottle, Matthew,” Simon said before the glass had touched Matthew’s lips. His voice was now completely engulfed in the steel, a threat underlying it that would have made James step back, had it been directed at him.

Matthew looked at Simon again, but either he didn’t care or he didn’t understand the words, because he continued his movement.

Before James had time to properly register what was going on, Simon had leapt forward and slapped the bottle out of Matthew’s hand. The glass shattered as it hit the floor, pieces of it crunching under Simon’s shoes as he quickly stepped back. A good thing too, because Matthew had gotten up to swing at Simon. Or well, make an attempt at it. As soon as he had gotten to his feet, he lost balance and fell back on the couch again, making the swing pretty non-threatening. Still, James realised Simon had a Swiss army knife in his hand, blade out. It was by his side, gone unnoticed by Matthew, but it was there all the same.

“Get a glass of water. Or a plastic bottle,” Simon said, not looking at James, but gesturing to a door behind the couch.

James left the room through the door and ended up in a small kitchen. It was a bit of a mess, but James suspected that had something to do with the situation he had unexpectedly found himself in. He opened the fridge and was glad to find a half-filled water bottle in it. He filled it up by the tap before walking back to the living room.

Matthew and Simon were exactly in the same positions as James had left them, with the only exception being the absence of Simon’s knife.

James handed the bottle to Simon, who held it out to Matthew with the short instruction of: “Drink.” Matthew had his head back in his hands and with one arm, reached out to push the bottle away. A weak attempt that was destined to fail. “Matthew, either you drink this yourself, or I break your jaw and force it down your throat. In which case you can either swallow or drown.” At this, Matthew looked up at Simon, probably to asses the risk-level of the threat. James wanted to say it was low, but he wasn’t so sure. Considering the circumstances, he could see Simon attempt it. Matthew seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because he reached out to grab the bottle and started drinking it. Simon let out a soft sigh of relief. One that James wouldn’t have heard had he been any further away from him.

“Should we call the hospital?” James asked. A question that probably should have been asked the moment they had walked in, but he hadn’t thought about it up until then. Matthew stiffened at the question, but relaxed when Simon shook his head.

“So long as he doesn’t pass out, no,” Simon said. A decision which James silently questioned, but didn’t say anything about out loud. He had begun to realise that Simon had some experience with situations like these. “I’ll be right back.”

Once Simon had left the room it became clear that Matthew had decided to pretend James wasn’t there. An understandable decision, albeit one that left a bit of an awkward silence hanging in the room. It did give James the opportunity to take a proper look at Matthew, who honestly looked like shit. There was a stain on his shirt that could only be vomit, especially because it matched the pile in front of the couch. His face was clam, even though he was shivering somewhat. Or shaking. It was hard to tell the difference.

Simon re-entered the room carrying a blanket James didn’t recognise. Without saying a word, he handed it to Matthew and took the now empty water bottle from him. Then he disappeared with the water bottle. A couple of minutes passed before he re-emerged with the water bottle, now filled, and a mug. He gave the mug to Matthew first. “Watch out, it’s hot.” At James’s questioning look, he explained: “Had to dissolve the sugar somehow.”

Matthew seemed to have foregone any thoughts of protesting, passively accepting everything Simon gave him and told him to do. Quite frankly, it was a bit scary to watch.

Simon stepped away from Matthew, who now had the blanket around him and was sipping the sugared water, and took James’ arm to lead him out of earshot from Matthew.

“I’d go home if I were you,” Simon said, “this is going to take a while.”

“I’m staying,” James said. A decision he had already made when Simon’s voice had taken on the sharp edge that it still hadn’t quite let go. Simon looked at him for a second, before giving a curt nod of acceptance. “What’s the plan?”

“I’ve got to keep him awake for an hour. Alcohol poisoning tends to increase in the first 30 to 40 minutes after the last alcohol has been consumed,” Simon said. “After that I’ll wake him every half hour to make sure he’s still capable of waking up.” It was said as if he was reading a script and not like they were talking about a friend with alcohol poisoning. Which, in James’ unexperienced opinion, was quite a conclusion to make for someone without a medical background.

“How often has this happened?” he asked, though what he really meant was ‘how often has this gone wrong?’ He wasn’t even talking about Matthew anymore. Simon had been acting with the fear of someone who had seen it gone far farther than they had seen now.

“Thrice,” Simon said eventually. “Three that got themselves into a proper coma. One of them woke up after a couple of hours…” He trailed off, glancing at Matthew before looking back at James. “One of the other two died. I never found out what happened to the third, but I never heard from her again, so…” Simon shrugged. One of those stiff shrugs that didn’t suit him at all.

“Fuck,” James muttered. “You know you can tell me when shit like that happens, right?”

“Need to know you before I can tell you anything,” Simon said with a grim smile. “Last one happened over three years ago.”

Suddenly, James was reminded of a comment Simon had made not too long ago. How he would stay sober when the people he sold his alcohol to got drunk. At the time he hadn’t thought much of it, only thought it to be a bit uncharacteristic. On second thought, however, he realised this might very well be the reason. It would also explain why Simon nearly always checked his phone when he got a message, regardless of the situation. James thought of Matthew’s messages. The ones that Simon hadn’t seen because he had for once decided to go to sleep on time.

“You know this isn’t your fault, right?” James said, his stomach falling when Simon looked away from him to glance at Matthew again.

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” Simon said. “Doesn’t change the situation.” Usually, James would have agreed with him. Usually, Simon wouldn’t be dancing around the point so much. Usually, they wouldn’t be looking at a friend who was slightly swaying on the couch, half empty water bottle clutched in his hand. None of their usual behaviour seemed applicable to the situation.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t make you responsible.”

“Just drop it.”

“Not until you listen to me.”

“James. Not now. Please.” Simon’s voice was clipped. It was fairly obvious he was just barely holding it together and that he didn’t need to be confronted with any irrational guilt he might be feeling. And well, ‘not now’ was an improvement from dropping it altogether, so James sighed and nodded.

“Alright.” He reached out to squeeze Simon’s shoulder for a second before leaving it behind them. “Tell me what to do.”

They set up a system to keep an eye on Matthew. One that involved taking turns sleeping, so neither would be fully exhausted come morning, multiple bottles of water and a few whispered arguments when Matthew wasn’t cooperating.

It was tough, but somehow they made it through to morning greeting a sobered up and conscious Matthew.


	2. Coffee and Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the tags for new TW

James woke up to the sound of whispers and sunlight filtering through sloppily closed curtains. It was the first time since he and Simon had left his apartment that he had slept for more than half an hour. The bed he was laying in wasn’t familiar. It was Matthew’s. Matthew himself had refused to leave the couch. Nonetheless, the soft mattress and blankets were extremely comfortable. That and the fact that he was still tired made it hard to wake up properly.

So, he just laid there, listening to the shreds of conversation that drifted in from the living room. Simon and Matthew were whispering, making it hard to hear more than lose words. Simon mentioned a shower and cleaning, though it was unclear if the two were related to each other and what or who the subject of the cleaning was supposed to be. Matthew mentioned John.

Some time later, the sound of running water woke James up again. He hadn’t even been aware that he had drifted off again. From the living room came the sounds of pieces of glass bouncing against each other. The light reflected from the glass, shone into the bedroom, dancing on the wall and ceiling. A beam shining directly into James’ eyes rudely woke him up from his semi-slumber. He sat up, cracking the joints in his arms and neck, before making his way to the living room.

In the living room, Simon used a broom to push together the pieces of broken glass from the bottle that had fallen. They had already gotten rid of the biggest pieces during the night, but all other cleaning work had been left to be dealt with at a later point.

Simon looked up when James entered. He looked exhausted and James had no doubt in his mind he looked the same. It wasn’t surprising, considering the night they had just had.

“You can raid the fridge,” Simon said while he started to transfer the broken glass to the trash bag that was precariously balanced on the couch.

“Does Matthew agree on that?” James asked, sincerely doubting Simon had asked Matthew’s permission. He probably wouldn’t have done so for himself, even though he had done it, judging by the half-eaten sandwich that lay on the armrest of the couch. Why Simon seemed intend on not using the coffee table, James didn’t know and he didn’t really want to know either.

“So far he has yet to acknowledge the fact that you’re here. But he hasn’t actively disagreed with it.”

“It is kind of impossible to disagree on something that hasn’t been suggested,” James pointed out.

Simon shrugged. James was glad to see he wasn’t as tense anymore as he had been the past night. “Maybe, but he owes you now, so I’d say it’s a fair trade.”

James could have argued about how it was in no shape or form a fair trade. But quite frankly, he didn’t think Matthew owed him anything and he was hungry, so he simply said: “Fair enough.”

Once in the kitchen, James realised he had no idea where anything was. Opening all the cupboards seemed like an invasion of privacy, but he really needed coffee if he wanted to stay awake. So, opening all the cupboards was his only option. In his search for a mug or glass, coffee and whatever was needed for breakfast, he stumbled upon a mismatched collection of mugs, glasses in quite literally every colour of the rainbow, plates that all differed at least a centimetre in size and a frankly impressive collection of breakfast cereals.

James was already downing the coffee, uncaring of the fact that it was scolding hot, when the kitchen door opened. Matthew walked in, apparently only realising James was there after a few seconds.

“James…” Matthew began, but he trailed off. The silence that followed lasted long enough for James to assume that that was all Matthew had wanted to say. He refocused on his coffee again, just when Matthew continued talking. “Thank you… for… well, all of… this.” He gestured around him, clearly more than a little uncomfortable and unsure.

“Don’t worry about it, buddy,” James said, ignoring Matthew’s sceptics, which clearly showed itself in his face. “I’m just glad you’re alright.” It was true, regardless of how long they had known each other. James would be more than fine if he never had to see Matthew like that again. “Just hope you don’t mind that I’m making a serious dent in your coffee stash.”

Matthew let out a chuckle. One that was soft and weak and filled with insecurities, but a chuckle nonetheless. “Take what you want, I barely drink coffee. Can’t have it now anyway, Simon would kill me.” He looked uncomfortable again, gaze locked on the ground. “I really pissed him off, didn’t I?” Even before Matthew had turned his statement in a tentative question, James had started shaking his head.

“Simon doesn’t get pissed,” James said, which was true for the most part. “Especially not in situations like these. He’s just worried.” Matthew looked at him as if he had something completely ridiculous. “You should’ve seen yourself yesterday. You went from aggressive to entirely passive in the matter of minutes and eventually even got unresponsive. That was scary. I’m not kidding when I tell you we were seriously reconsidering the hospital.”

It hadn’t been considered for long, because Matthew hadn’t passed out, but it wasn’t until he had reacted to some shouting on the street that they had decided against it.

“Shit. I’m so sorry,” Matthew began, but James shook his head again, effectively stopping Matthew in whatever apology he had wanted to start.

“I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty,” James explained. “I’m sure you had your reasons and it doesn’t matter whether they were good or bad. Friends help each other. I’m just trying to make you believe that Simon was scared out of his mind.” Matthew looked up in surprise at the statement, which was understandable. Simon was easily mistaken as being fearless. “So was I, actually.” More surprise.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Matthew said after a few seconds of silence.

“No,” James agreed. “But everyone makes stupid decisions every now and then. No need to beat yourself up over it and just make things worse.” Matthew nodded before finally moving from where he had frozen to move to pour water in a kettle.

By the time Simon entered the kitchen, Matthew was already next to James leaning against the counter, sipping on his tea and James was well into his second cup of coffee. Simon grabbed a Fanta bottle from the fridge and then sat down on the kitchen table, using one of the chairs as a food rest.

“I would steal someone’s vacuum cleaner and make sure all the glass shards are gone if I were you. But otherwise your living room is as clean as it’s going to get,” Simon said after having taken a swig from the bottle. So far for James’ drink of choice being the least appropriate for the early hour.

“Thanks,” Matthew said, fingers tapping against the yellow ceramic of his mug. “Simon, I’m really sorry, I-”

“We’ve been through this,” Simon said, interrupting Matthew. There it was again. The tension and discomfort from last night that crept back in Simon’s posture and voice. Matthew seemed to realise this too, because he didn’t make another attempt at apologising and only nodded.

“Are you going to set the limit back to once a week?” Matthew asked quietly. He hadn’t looked at Simon while asking the question, but instead stared straight into his tea. His shoulders almost high enough to cover his ears.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but if you want to, we can do that,” Simon said, voice more gentle now. James vaguely realised he shouldn’t be present during this conversation, but it was also far too late to keep him out of the situation. Privacy really had seized to exist.

“I don’t want to,” Matthew said, still not looking at anything else than his tea.

“Then we don’t change anything.”

“Really?” There it was. The disbelief that had been edging Matthew’s voice now penetrated every letter of the word. He looked up now. Looking at Simon in surprise and the slightest hint of distrust. As if Simon was the kind of person to trick people into doing what he wants them to do. Not that James had the illusion that any of that mattered. Not in the face of Matthew’s clear trust issues.

“Yes. You’ve been improving for months now. Don’t see why one slip up should put you back in square one.”

Matthew’s smile was small but genuine, though he also said: “Hasn’t been much improvement.”

“Improvement is improvement,” Simon said with a shrug that was finally as casual as a shrug should be. A grin started to form on his face. “One of these days I’m going to have to find someone else to give ridiculous discounts.”

“You can also not give discounts,” James interjected while finding to his disappointment that his mug was once again empty.

“Boring.”

“Do you think I should tell John?” Matthew asked. James found to his surprise that the question was directed at him and not at Simon. “Simon thinks I should.”

“I think you should tell him everything,” Simon remarked in as dry a voice as he was capable of. Which, admittedly, wasn’t all that dry.

“I don’t know, buddy,” James said, scratching the back of his neck. “I would say yes, but I don’t know half of what’s going on, so I can’t really judge the situation.”

“Tell him what happened,” Simon said. In response, he received an incredulous look from Matthew. James himself was starting to wonder if Simon had finally lost it. “I’m serious. James is literally the last person on the planet to judge you and he has known John since college, so he can tell you that John won’t judge either and maybe you’ll actually take his word for it.” His tone suggested this wasn’t the first time he and Matthew had broached the subject and James started to realise that ‘what had happened’, happened long before last night.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want,” James said, but he also saw that Matthew was already considering it. So, James added: “But he is right. Though I have no idea what this is about.”

Matthew bit his lip, fingers taping against his mug again. There was no way the tea was still hot. “Why I started drinking. Or well. Why I turned it into a problem.” There was a disapproving sound from Simon, after which Matthew corrected himself. “Why it turned into a problem. I never told any of you this. Well, I told John, but-” Matthew shook his head, stopping himself in his rambling. His eyes were once again fixated on the counter. “I’m trans. My then boyfriend, Andrew, was the only one who knew for the longest time. Didn’t tell my parents until I was 18. They…” His fingers tightened around his mug. “They didn’t take it well. Kicked me out.”

“I moved in with Andrew, but it turned out he wasn’t as great as I thought he was.” Although Matthew held his mug in a death grip, the rest of his body was shaking slightly. James wanted to reach out to him to offer any comfort he could, but it was clear that Matthew was desperately trying to keep it together and that any touch would cause him to break down instead. So James sat still.

“He- He hit me,” Matthew said. “Isolated me from everyone I knew. Though my parents had made that easy for him. Told me it was my fault things had gone to shit and that he now needed to look out for me. That I ruined everything just because I wanted to be special. Couldn’t leave well enough alone. I believed him, of course. All evidence spoke in his favour. If I had kept my mouth shut, none of it would have happened. If I had been _normal._ ” It almost sounded like Matthew threw up the word.

“I had done casual drinking before, of course. But after everything… It wasn’t casual anymore. Got alcohol anywhere I could get it. Stores, shady traders, if you can think of it, I probably did it. Couldn’t have Andrew find out and I didn’t trust anyone. Stumbled upon Simon eventually. Didn’t trust him either, of course, but at least I could afford his shit.” James glanced over at Simon, who had his eyes on the cap of the Fanta bottle, which was going between his fingers like a coin.

“Eventually I just got all my stuff from him. It was easy, discreet, cheap. Started to trust him enough to tell him about Andrew. Though the bruises were pretty hard to hide. Not for lack of trying. Then, one day, Andrew broke my arm, after which he left. I had no one else left and no driver’s license to get myself to the hospital. So, I called Simon. He went with me to the hospital and then brought me to his apartment. Suppose I gave him my key, I don’t remember, but he left and came back later with most of my things. Don’t know if Andrew was there.” At this, Matthew finally looked up, possibly having realised he never asked about it.

“He was,” Simon said. “Broke the dickhead’s wrist. Possibly his leg as well. Had to convince him somehow to leave you alone.” James suspected Andrew had sustained more injuries than a broken wrist and leg.

Matthew nodded, looking down at his mug again. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need to know all that.”

“Don’t apologize,” James said softly. “You can tell everything you want to. Simon was right, I don’t judge and neither will John. This is important to you, he would want to know.” James reached out to place a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “But he would never think less of you. Definitely not for this.”

Apparently, this was enough for Matthew to break down. He started crying, hiding his face in his arms. James breached the short distance between them to give him a hug. A gesture immediately returned by Matt, who now hid his face in James’ shoulder.

James looked at Simon over Matthew’s head. Simon looked back at him with a look that said ‘ _told you it’s a mess’_ before taking another swig from the Fanta bottle.


	3. Tears over Tea

They decided to get some sleep while Matthew decided on whether or not he should tell John. With some effort, he convinced James and Simon to take his bed. Of course, the couch wasn’t nearly as comfortable as a bed and Matthew was incredibly tired, but he wanted to thank them somehow. Granting them some comfortable sleep after robbing them of it seemed the least he could do. He wanted to do more, but he knew by now Simon would only accept thanks in fridge contents and he had already raided Matthew’s fridge. James didn’t come across as very different.

So, Matthew found himself back on his couch, trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. It took some effort, but eventually he found one that was good enough. Not that it mattered that much. He was tired enough that he fell asleep within minutes.

When he woke up again, his phone told him only an hour had passed. He sighed, wanting to sleep some more, but he also knew his body well enough to know he wasn’t going to get any. So, he got up from the couch and quietly made his way to his bedroom. He wanted to get a hoodie, but when he opened the door, he saw that Simon and James were still vast asleep. Tangled into the sheets and each other, James with an arm over Simon. Matthew didn’t want to disturb them, so he softly closed the door again.

He went back to the couch and wrapped the blanket he had slept under around himself. He grabbed his phone, intending to mindlessly scroll through social media, but he noticed some missed texts from John. Which wasn’t that surprising. They texted almost constantly these days. Usually, Matthew didn’t mind. The opposite, really. And he still didn’t, because it was John and Matthew was well aware that he was head over heels but well, it did force him to think about the problem at hand.

Matthew really didn’t want to think about it.

He just wanted to lay back down and sleep long enough for all of this to have disappeared into oblivion. He was almost inclined to let Simon tell John. Simon would probably do it too. That way Matthew didn’t have to see John’s reaction. He could just drown in his shame without John bearing witness to it. It was preferable to the alternative.

Fuck, he wanted a drink.

He started fiddling with the leather bracelet around his wrist. Turning it inside out and inside out again. Over and over. He was so focused on it that he didn’t notice the bedroom door opening, nor someone entering the living room. Not until Simon was already sitting next to him.

Matthew was fairly confident that he took at least a full minute to look up at Matthew, but he wasn’t met with impatience. Even though he knew Simon was an impatient person by nature. Just like when Simon had told him what he had done the previous night, there hadn’t been any real anger or annoyance. There should have been. Matthew felt vaguely guilty at its absence. Even though nothing about Simon was accusing. All his posture said was ‘ _something’s bothering you, you can tell me’_.

Matthew pressed his lips together and looked back at the bracelet, resuming his fiddling. After a few twists he said: “Can you…” he trailed of. _‘Tell John everything so I don’t have to’_ was left on his tongue. He wasn’t blind to the cowardice of the request. The ridiculousness. Still. With everything that had happened, he figured he might just as well add this to it. So, he took a breath and started over. “Can you give me a ride to John’s?”

He hadn’t meant to ask that. It had simply spilled out of his mouth without his permission. Heck, he hadn’t even checked to see of John was home or if he had time. But before he could correct himself, Simon gave him a short one-armed hug and suddenly Matthew didn’t want to change his request anymore. He realised that, even if John would never want to look at him again, he had friends. He had people to fall back to. A security net he had never had before and one that he didn’t fully trust yet, but he was starting to.

“I can’t,” Simon answered, but Matthew already heard from his tone that this was an overly complicated way of saying ‘yes, of course’. “Apparently driving sleep deprived is as dangerous as driving drunk and I’m trying to prevent James from getting serious about getting a life insurance. At least this month.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m paying his insurances this month,” Simon replied with a grin. “But James won’t mind the detour. He can drive you.”

“Good to know you’ve made that decision for me,” said James, who had only just walked into the living room, looking more rested than he had earlier in the morning.

“I’m simply making life easier for you,” Simon said, almost sounding innocent. James didn’t look very impressed.

“And here I was thinking you were making my life harder,” James remarked while letting himself sink on the chair next to the couch. Simon reached over to pat his shoulder in a way that would have been sympathetic, hadn’t it been extremely dry. He received a glare for his troubles.

“An easily made mistake, my friend,” Simon said cheerfully.

Matthew smiled at their bickering. He opened his text conversation with John, disregarding all the messages John had already send.

**_Matthew:_ ** _Are you at home? And do you have time?_

Almost as soon as he had sent the message, he felt himself get nervous again. This had to be the worst idea he had had in a while. Although, he supposed that trying to drink through two weeks’ worth of alcohol in one evening had claimed that title for the foreseeable future. He was fairly sure the only reason he wasn’t actually panicking was the sound of James and Simon bickering. Even if Matthew had stopped paying attention to the subject of their discussion. Something about food poisoning.

**_John:_ ** _Yes. To both_

**_John:_ ** _Are you alright?_

**_Matthew:_ ** _I think so. For the most part anyway. I just need to talk to you_

**_John:_ ** _I can come to your place if that’s easier_

Matthew considered it for a second. It would be easier, if only because he wouldn’t inconvenience James. But if John came to Matthew’s apartment and things didn’t go well, he wouldn’t have anywhere to escape to.

**_Matthew:_ ** _No, that’s alright. I’ll come to you_

**_John:_ ** _Alright, I’ll see you in a bit_

“John is at home,” Matthew said, probably interrupting James and Simon’s conversation. But he hadn’t paid enough attention to know for sure. Besides, now that he had decided to do this, he wanted to get it over with.

“Alright, just give me 5 minutes to fully wake up before I’m driving anyone anywhere. Don’t really feel like buying a new car,” James said, which Matthew supposed was fair enough.

**_Matthew:_ ** _I’ll be there in twenty minutes or so_

It ended up being 25 minutes later when Matthew stepped out of James’ car. 25 minutes in which he had had plenty of time to get properly nervous. It really was an accomplishment that he hadn’t backed out of it altogether.

The couple of seconds in between Matthew pressing the doorbell and John opening the door seemed to last an eternity. But when the door finally opened, Matthew’s heart seemed to skip a beat. It tended to do that when seeing John, though this time the nerves could also have caused it.

Behind him, he heard James’ car start and drive away. John looked at it over Matthew’s shoulder and then looked in confusion at Matthew. “James drove you?”

“Yes,” Matthew answered. He hadn’t yet considered that this made very little sense for anyone who hadn’t spend the past night at his apartment. “It’s a long story.”

John nodded and stepped aside to let Matthew in. They walked to the kitchen, where the kettle had just finished boiling water. John divided the water over two mugs. From a cupboard he grabbed two jars with loose tea leaves. They shared the opinion that prebagged tea was inferior to loose tea leaves.

“You look like shit,” John said while shoving one of the mugs to Matthew. The smell of camomile and vanilla drifted up to meet him. He would have smiled if his stomach hadn’t decided to make a knot of itself. John didn’t like camomile tea. He had been surprised to learn it was Matthew’s favourite. The fact that he now had a permanent stash of it meant more to Matthew than he could ever hope to express. “I assume it’s part of the story?”

Matthew nodded. His mouth was suddenly dry. His fingers tightened around the mug, even though the ceramic was really too hot for such an action.

“Should I be worried?” John asked quietly. Under any other circumstances, Matthew would have laughed at the irony. John had no reason to be worried. It was Matthew who had decided to lay bare all the things he would rather remain buried until every trace of them disappeared forever. Who was about to give John all the freedom to judge Matthew however he pleased. But the circumstances were, sadly, as they were and all Matthew did, was shake his head.

It seemed he had lost the ability to talk. Not a very convenient moment.

John nodded and sat down at the kitchen table, gesturing for Matthew to take the seat opposite him. He did and then spend a few seconds in silence. Trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. He was aware of John’s gaze on him, even as he himself had his eyes fixed on a stain in the wood of the table.

“This isn’t easy for me to tell you-” That had to be the understatement of the year. “-so please, don’t… don’t interrupt me.”

“Alright, I won’t,” John promised. He reached out to softly touch the back of Matthew’s hand. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, but Matthew couldn’t help a looming feeling that this would be the last time John would willingly touch him.

But he had gotten this far. Might just as well see it through.

Matthew took a deep breath and started talking. Or well. He made an attempt at it. He was painfully aware that he was rambling a lot. Backtracking every few sentences. He stuttered, too. A lot.

He had hoped that after he had told James, telling John would be easier. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Because John wasn’t James. John’s opinion mattered so much more. And there was no one here to back Matthew up. No one to leap to his defence if ( _‘when’_ his mind unhelpfully supplied) John wasn’t as understanding as Simon and James had said he would be.

By the time he was finished, it felt as though an eternity had passed. His mouth was dry and his fingers were shaking. Maybe his entire body was shaking, he didn’t know. He only taken a couple of sips from his tea. The liquid had long since gone cold, but he took another sip anyway. Anything to give him something to do while he awaited John’s judgement.

“Matthew,” John whispered. There was a pain in his voice that Matthew didn’t know how to take. His fingers tightened around the mug again. He was almost sure it would break under the pressure.

John was silent for a few seconds, presumably searching for words. Words for rejection? Ways to hide his disgust? No, Matthew told himself. There had been pain in John’s voice and even though Matthew didn’t understand why, he knew pain wasn’t the same as disgust.

“Matt,” John said again, his voice a bit louder this time. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. And thank you. For telling me. I can’t begin to imagine the courage that must have taken.”

Matthew wanted to laugh. He didn’t feel very courageous. He felt scared. But he didn’t laugh, he was crying. He didn’t know how long he had been crying for, but his vision was blurry and tears ran down his cheeks.

“I meant what I said. Nothing that could have ever happened to you, would make me think any less of you,” John continued. He reached out to Matthew. Matthew let him take his hand and kiss the knuckles. For the first time since they had sat down, he dared to look up at John. John’s eyes were watery and his expression pained, both of which Matthew didn’t quite understand. But then John shot him a smile. Encouraging and sweet and enough to warm Matthew.

“Just, please, next time you feel the need to… drink yourself into a coma, call me?” It sounded more like a question than like a request. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Matthew nodded, even though he wasn’t sure if he would. He wanted to promise John that he would, but he knew himself better than that. Knew that when he got like that, the fear of judgement would keep him from reaching out to John. He didn’t want his boyfriend to see him like that. But he could at least try.

Without letting go of Matthew’s hand, John got up and walked around the table to sit down on Matthew’s lap. He wrapped his free arm around Matthew. Almost immediately, Matthew leaned his head against John’s neck, wrapping an arm around John’s waist. His heart was still racing in his chest, but John was pressing kisses against his head, his hair, his temples and with every kiss, Matthew’s heartrate slowed down a bit until he felt calm and safe again.


	4. Car Conversations

A comfortable silence hung between Simon and James while they drove back to James’ apartment. A comfort that probably stemmed from familiarity and sleep deprivation, because there were definitely things that needed to be discussed. The silence didn’t last long however. It seemed that Simon’s patience had crossed its limitations, because within five minutes he said: “Any chance you’re willing to reschedule ‘not now’ to ‘never’?”

James snorted and would have given Simon a dry look if he wouldn’t have had to pay attention to the road. “Take a wild guess.”

“Ah, well, it was worth a try,” Simon said with a carelessness that was clearly fake.

“Since when do you go through the effort of avoiding the point anyway?” James asked. He had started to wonder about it somewhere between the second and third time he had woken Matthew up. He had had way too much time to think about everything that had happened and he had come to the conclusion that Simon avoiding confrontation was very uncharacteristic. He usually met remarks head on.

“Since you’re right,” Simon answered after a few seconds of silence.

“I usually am.” They had been pretty close to James’ apartment, but he decided to lengthen the detour and instead took the fastest way to the highway. Something about this conversation made it feel like it would be easier if they both had something else to concentrate on. Besides, Simon wouldn’t have to pretend to be fine if he thought James was too busy watching other cars.

“First of all, no, you’re not,” Simon said. James rolled his eyes in amusement because of course Simon had to debunk it before addressing anything of actual importance. At least his priorities were as crooked as ever. “Secondly, usually the situation is ever so slightly less complicated.”

James had to admit that was true. “Then why act as though I’ve got it all wrong? Please don’t say you had a stubborn streak to complete this month.”

Simon chuckled. A chuckle that was a bit empty, but didn’t sound forced, which was good enough in James’ opinion. “Because it doesn’t matter whether you’re right or not. Doesn’t change the situation.” James wasn’t sure if Simon had noticed he was repeating his own words from the evening prior. He wouldn’t be surprised either way.

“That still doesn’t make you responsible,” James said again.

“No,” Simon agreed, “but that doesn’t matter.” His elbow was propped up against the car window, his fingers tapping against the top of the window frame. He looked fairly relaxed otherwise, though maybe tiredness had something to do with that.

“Because you still feel responsible?” It wasn’t really a question. That Simon felt responsible was made clear from every action he had taken that night. And, in hindsight, several more before then.

James was reminded of a time where they had been in bed, already naked, making out and pulling at each other until a notification from Simon’s phone had interrupted them. Any other person would have ignored it, but Simon never did. James had found this out very early on and simply accepted it without ever questioning it. Simon had looked vaguely annoyed after reading the message and had left with a vague explanation of ‘work’. James at the time hadn’t been thrilled with it, but other than some commentary, hadn’t said much about it.

“Yes,” Simon admitted. “But not in the way that you think I do. It’s not that it’s my stuff they get drunk on and die from. People make their own decisions and they definitely don’t need me to enable them. It could have been anyone else and it wouldn’t matter.” James was surprised to hear this. Because, if their roles were reversed, he probably would have some irrational guilt about it. Even though Simon was right.

“But these people… They generally don’t have someone else to stop them. No one to prevent they get in a car while drunk or to prevent them choking on their own vomit or to drink themselves into an oblivion. Either the people close to them don’t know or they simply don’t exist.” Simon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not responsible for their decisions, but I tend to be the only one who can prevent their decisions leading to some dangerous shit. It’s stupid, trust me, I’m well aware.”

“It’s not that stupid,” James admitted. “A little inconvenient, perhaps.”

“James, please reflect over the past 12 hours and admit that we’ve crossed ‘inconvenient’ a long time ago.”

James chuckled. “Alright, fair enough.” He got serious again. “It’s not your job to stop them though. Last time I checked, ‘damage control’ wasn’t in your hypothetical job description.” Of course, Simon’s official lack of a job also meant there was no job description.

“Nor is acting as my sense of self-preservation in yours,” Simon pointed out, though he didn’t sound accusing.

James glanced at him in confusion, not understanding why this was suddenly brought up. Unless Simon hadn’t been okay with James coming along after all. “Simon, if I overstepped any boundaries-”

Simon shook his head. “You haven’t. You’ve been pretty damn great, actually, but that’s not the point. I’m just saying that it doesn’t matter whether it’s my job or not, because I can’t not do it. I won’t stop.”

James understood where Simon was coming from, which was slightly annoying because it didn’t solve anything nor did it improve the situation in any way. Something Simon seemed to be aware of as well. So, James nodded. “Alright, just watch out.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Simon grin. “Don’t I always?”

“No comment,” James said while he drove away from the highway and pulled up in a McDonald’s parking lot. Fuck knew he needed another coffee as soon as possible. He was going on six hours of interrupted sleep at best and it wasn’t nearly enough. “Get inside and get me a coffee, I’m not suffering through the drive-thru.”

Simon chuckled. “Just this once, because you have been very generous with your time.” He moved to get out of the car but then stopped, his hand still on the door handle. “Hey, Jem?”

“Hmm?” James looked at Simon, worry inevitably creeping up at the back of his mind.

“Thanks.” Simon smiled at him, gratitude as clear as daylight.

“Just don’t force me to watch you mix a banana and strawberry milkshake again,” James said, well aware that it was completely futile to ask it.

“I won’t,” Simon promised while he got out of the car. “I’ll mix a chocolate and strawberry milkshake.” Before James had a chance to protest, Simon had gotten out of the car and slammed the door closed. James had half a mind to drive away, but then he’d never get his coffee. So, instead he grabbed his phone and opened his private messages with Judas. Which, honestly, didn’t contain a long chat history.

**_James:_ ** _Please abduct Simon in the near future_

**_Judas:_ ** _I’m assuming this isn’t because you’ve finally realised what you got yourself into and are now looking for an easy way to rid yourself of the shit?_

**_James:_ ** _It’s not. I’ll take him back, I promise_

**_Judas:_ ** _You better_

James looked up from his phone to see Simon walking to the car, carrying a tray with four cups on it. He got in the car and gave one of the cups to James. He opened the other three, two of which contained milkshake and the third of which was empty, and began to mix the two flavours milkshake.

“Why do they always give you an empty cup when you ask for one?” James asked while he drove away from the McDonald’s to drive home. “They should make that illegal.”

“Maybe this is simply the universe telling you to get into politics,” Simon offered while stirring the Frankenshake with a straw.

“I think for the sake of literally everyone it’s better that I don’t.”

***

**_Judas:_ ** _Come take a look at my car’s engine. It’s acting like a fucking bitch_

**_Simon:_ ** _Always happy to be of service_

**_Judas:_ ** _Just get your ass here, you fucking idiot_

The text that Judas had sent to Simon wasn’t a lie. His engine was acting up and he was more than a little pissed about it. However, usually he would have waited at least another two weeks before even considering texting Simon about it. Not that Simon wasn’t good with cars. Judas was simply too stubborn to ask for help any sooner than absolutely necessary. He was well aware of the fact and didn’t feel very inclined to do anything about it.

It did save him some time though. Because within three hours of Simon arriving, they had the engine working as it always had. Debatably more efficient than waiting two weeks to get the same result, but Judas would of course never admit that.

He had gotten inside to get them beer and got back out to find Simon sitting on the hood of Judas’ car. The moment Simon had arrived, Judas had noticed something was off. Which wasn’t that surprising, considering the fact that James had texted him. But during their work, the something (whatever it was) had melted away. Now it was back.

“You know, if you adhere to a fucking sleep schedule, you wouldn’t be so dead on your feet that you need to sit down every ten minutes,” he said gruffly while getting on the hood himself. Of course, it was an exaggeration. They had been on their feet for three hours and Judas was glad to take a seat himself, but that wouldn’t stop him from commenting on it.

“Sleep schedules are for the weak,” Simon commented while taking the bottle that Judas held out to him.

“And for those who don’t spend all night screwing around,” Judas commented dryly.

“I didn’t, actually, believe it or not. Though you may have just given me my reason for the next short night.”

“Didn’t know you needed a reason.” He knew Simon didn’t. More than once he had found the man to be awake at ridiculous hours for no reason other than he simply hadn’t gone to bed yet.

“Matthew decided to drink himself into oblivion with his entire stash,” Simon said, looking at the beer bottle in his hand before taking a swig of it.

“Fuck,” Judas muttered. He knew that Matthew had to be okay, otherwise they wouldn’t be here right now and Simon wouldn’t be so calm. But he was instantly reminded of a night about three years ago with blearing sirens and a girl who would be declared dead two months later. When Simon had been white as a sheet and hadn’t slept for 4 days straight. Which apparently was possible. Judas wasn’t an emotional person, but there were things he could do without.

Simon hummed in agreement, after which they lapsed into a silence where they emptied the bottles.

“Come on,” Judas said, slipping off of the hood of his car. Simon shot him a questioning look, to which Judas replied with a roll of his eyes. “While you were out getting as little sleep as physically possible, some stupid high judge or whatever made a very decent attempt at passing horrible law number I-lost-count. I hear his house has a nice driveway filled with pebbles and his house apparently has more windows than walls. One of those modern villas that are unreasonably expensive.”

Simon grinned. “Judas, my friend, why didn’t you start with that?” He jumped off of the hood, earning him a glare from Judas, and got in the car.

“Got to have a working car before I’m willing to risk adding to my criminal record,” Judas said while getting into the car himself. To be honest, he had meant to let this one slip by. Something about anger management or some likewise bullshit. But he figured Pilate would have to forgive him this one. If he ever found out.


	5. Tender Temptations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I will not stop with my sort of alliteration titles. Try to stop me
> 
> Also, I was wondering. Who do you guys imagine as James, John and Matthew? (I say this as if there are more than 3 people reading this fic) Believe it or not, they were actually inspired by actual ensemble members in the 2012 production (10 points if you can miraculously guess which ones)

“So, when are you and Jesus finally getting back together?”

Judas’ hands tightened on the steering wheel and he glared at Simon. Simon really was lucky they could still hear the burglar alarm going off at the judge’s house. Otherwise Judas wouldn’t have hesitated to kick him out of the car. Even if they were driving towards the highway. Stupid Romans and their tendencies to prevent damage or removal of possessions.

“You heard him, we’re not,” Judas said, hoping that would be the end of it, though he knew very well it wouldn’t be. Not with Simon. He wondered if pushing the message in Simon’s face again would do the job. Probably not.

“Yes, that’s what he _said_ , but when’s the last time either of you have meant it when you say things like that?”

Judas hated to admit that Simon had a point.

“What makes you think I want to get back together?”

Simon gave Judas a long look, which he couldn’t ignore even if he could only see it from the corner of his eye. He groaned. Simon was right, of course. Judas hated him for it, but that didn’t change the facts.

Of course, he wanted to get back together with Jesus. Judas had missed him. Missed waking up next to him. Missed watching him bake. Fuck, he even missed bickering with Jesus. But the problem wasn’t whether he wanted to get back together, the problem was whether he should. He had to acknowledge the painful fact that their relationship wasn’t exactly ideal. Or incredibly healthy. He wasn’t sure he cared though. Actually, he knew that if Jesus was to take him back right now, Judas would accept without hesitation. Which was the other problem.

“I don’t know if you’ve paid attention, but our conversations haven’t been that great lately,” Judas said, ignoring the victorious grin that appeared on Simon’s face.

“You also haven’t really had any conversations in a while,” Simon pointed out. “Just show up on his doorstep. At least that way he can’t ignore you when things don’t go his way.”

“What makes you think a physical conversation will go any better than a text conversation, regardless of whether he will ignore me or not?”

“Well, if nothing else, you’re both horny enough to throw aside everything and just duck into bed like nothing ever happened,” Simon said as if it was completely obvious.

“You sound very sure of yourself,” Judas said dryly, with the necessary annoyance. He was seriously reconsidering throwing Simon out of the car, even though they were on the highway now and that would probably end in manslaughter. At least he would have a solid motive.

“Well, he hasn’t had sex in… what? A month and a half? Two? And you have been going dry for a little over three weeks.”

“Bold of you to assume you were the last.”

“Are you telling me I’m not?” Judas groaned again, because Simon had been his last hook up. Which hadn’t been entirely intentional. It just… happened. Hooking up with Simon was simply too easy. It was uncomplicated, had no consequences whatsoever and well, it was good sex. No questions asked either.

And, if Judas was honest with himself, hooking up with Simon was a nice change from Jesus, with whom things always got complicated at some point. Of course, Judas wouldn’t admit this to himself and would rather leave observations like this to Pilate. (Pilate had in fact made this exact observation about a week ago.)

Judas vaguely wondered if hooking up now would stop Simon from asking questions now, but he already knew no amount of sex could stop Simon once he had set his mind on something. Though he supposed he could always fuck Simon until he was too spent to ask more questions. If he kept going, it was worth a try.

“You know you have to go left here, right?” Simon asked. Judas swore, quickly changing lanes before stopping in front of the traffic light. He had been driving without paying too much attention to the road, trusting he knew the way to his apartment by now. He hadn’t even noticed they had left the highway. At least Simon seemed to have caught up on this, since he simply started giving Judas directions.

“I know the way,” Judas snapped, but this didn’t stop Simon. Nor did it stop Judas from following said directions.

That was, until they drove into a familiar street. Not Judas’ street. It was Jesus’ street. Judas stopped the car and turned to Simon, who looked far too pleased with himself. “You little shit.”

“No need to thank me, my friend,” Simon said cheerfully before hopping out of the car. “Just do me a favour and don’t kill each other. Erotic asphyxiation is rarely a good bet during make up sex.” Simon winked and closed the door, walking away as if this was a completely normal situation to walk away from.

Judas groaned, leaning with his head on the steering wheel. Of course, he realised he could just drive away. Nothing was stopping him. Even Simon wouldn’t keep buggering him about it. It would be the easy thing to do. Very uncomplicated. But… Well, Judas didn’t want to.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? No matter how complicated things with Jesus could get, Judas still loved him. He didn’t see that changing anytime soon. Because Jesus wasn’t easy. He could be more difficult than anyone else Judas had ever met, including himself, but he was worth it. He had always been worth it.

So, Judas didn’t drive away. Instead, he parked the car, got out and made his way to Jesus’ apartment. He rang the bell and shoved his hands in his pockets almost immediately. His fingernails pressing into the palms of his hand. He couldn’t help but feel he was about to make a huge mistake.

Jesus opened the door. He looked surprised to see Judas, which was understandable. Judas himself was surprised he was there. To his credit, Jesus didn’t ask any questions, but just stepped aside to let Judas in. A good thing too, because Judas suddenly realised that he had no idea what he was supposed to say. He really should’ve thought about this at least five minutes longer.

They walked into the living room, where the tv was paused on some sort of news segment Judas didn’t care about. Until Jesus gestured at it and said: “Please tell me you had nothing to do with that.”

Judas looked at the tv again and now noticed the news segment was covering the destruction of the judge’s house. The image was paused on a grainy picture of someone watching the glass shatter. It was Simon. Of course, anyone else wouldn’t have recognised him, since a hood was covering his face and his build was average enough to be confused with anyone else. Especially with the quality of the picture. But it was undoubtedly clear enough for Jesus to have recognised their friend.

“He had it coming,” Judas said with a shrug, genuinely not regretting the damage he and Simon had done to the judge’s house.

“And what’s this supposed to solve?” Jesus asked, sounding more frustrated than the situation warranted. “You don’t really believe he will reconsider anything he has done just because he now has to buy new windows, do you?”

Judas was tempted to grab the bait to lapse into a discussion of whether or not acts like these had any purpose whatsoever. It was a discussion they had often had. But it wasn’t why he had come. The reason he had come would undoubtedly result in at least another discussion, so Judas decided not to waste his energy on this one and simply said: “Simon needed a break.”

Jesus was silent for a second before saying: “You couldn’t just fuck him? Since that appears to be your preferred method of dealing with things nowadays.”

Judas sighed. He didn’t even try to suppress it. “That’s low, even for you.”

“I’ve simply decided to get on your level,” Jesus said with a shrug that was undoubtedly meant to be nonchalant, but came off as anything but.

“Whatever,” Judas said, perhaps a little too harshly. He needed to focus on the problem at hand and not leap at anything else Jesus threw his way. “Can we just talk about this, please?”

“I’m still not taking you back.”

“I don’t care,” Judas said immediately, even though Jesus might just as well have pressed a knife in his stomach and twisted it. It was a lie and he knew it, so he sighed and said: “No, I do, but… Look, I fucked up and you have every right to be mad at me, but I can’t bear that knowledge. That you’re mad at me.” Jesus looked at him in surprise. Really, Judas himself was surprised at his own honesty. But he saw Jesus’ defences crumble around him, his stance more open than it had been in any discussion they had had for as far as Judas could remember.

Judas silently cursed Pilate for being right.

“You hurt me,” Jesus said, the words and their honesty somehow more painful than any spiteful thing he ever could have said.

“I know.” Judas had known ever since he had told Jesus. It was hard to miss. “And I’m sorry. I really am. Believe it or not, that was never my intention.” It sounded ridiculous. Judas wasn’t blind to how ridiculous it sounded, but that didn’t make it less true. Of course, he wasn’t sure if the fact that he hadn’t considered Jesus was much better. Probably not.

“I believe you,” Jesus said quietly. His finger fumbled with the edge of his shirt. Judas wanted to close the distance between them and take that hand. Kiss every finger until the tension had disappeared from them. Of course, he couldn’t do that and so he stayed put.

“If I can never be your boyfriend again, that’s…” Not fine. It was far from fine. Judas didn’t even really want to entertain the thought. “That’s understandable. But at the very least let me be your friend.” It sounded like torture, if Judas was to be completely honest with himself. But it also would be infinitely better than whatever they were now. If friend was the best he could get, he would accept it.

Jesus was silent. His hair had fallen in front of his face, making it impossible for Judas to see any of Jesus’ expressions. Fuck, how he wanted to brush the hair back. To cup Jesus’ cheek and kiss him. Just being friends started to sound more impossible with every passing second.

“I don’t want to be friends,” Jesus said eventually. Judas’ blood froze in his veins. He may have just realised that being friends would be torture, but it was still preferable to the other options.

“I don’t…” Jesus said, his voice shaking slightly. “I’ve… I love you. And I’ve missed you. And I don’t want to be your friend.”

_Oh._

“Well, that makes two of us,” Judas said before he could think twice about it.

Jesus laughed. A watery and short laugh, but Judas had expected them to be screaming to each other by now, so this was undoubtedly an improvement. More than that, it gave Judas hope. Hope that maybe this situation wasn’t beyond repair. That they could fix it.

“Look, I promise you-” Judas began, but Jesus interrupted him by shaking his head.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this.” Jesus was right, although it hurt to hear. Judas had been prone to run away when things got to a certain point, right into someone else’s bed. It simply hadn’t gone as far as it had gone this time.

“Not like this though.”

“Not like this,” Jesus admitted. He was still fiddling with the edge of his shirt. Part of Judas wanted to tell him to stop. That the hem would remain curled forever if he kept this up. However, Judas realised that was completely irrelevant to the situation, so he didn’t say it.

“I can promise you I won’t ever do this again. And the rest… I’m working on it.” He didn’t have much conviction that any of that ‘working on it’ was really getting him anywhere. Although, he supposed they still weren’t shouting. So perhaps the whole therapy thing was helping. Judas made a mental note to kill Simon sometime in the near future.

“Is that why you’re here? Did your therapist tell you to come?” Jesus asked, genuinely sounding curious. He finally looked up at Judas. It wasn’t clear if he had cried or only come close, but Judas suspected the first.

“No, this was all thanks to Simon’s orchestrations,” Judas said dryly, gaining another chuckle from Jesus. Judas dared a small smile of his own before returning to the matter at hand again. “I’ve missed you, Jesus.”

Jesus nodded, more to himself than to Judas. “Mary is going to hate me.”

Judas was fairly certain he misunderstood the implication of those words, though his heart was already searing in his chest. “Join the club.”

Jesus smiled. “Just promise me one thing. Don’t stop going to therapy.”

Under other circumstances, Judas would have pointed out the hypocrisy of the request, since Jesus certainly hadn’t ever talked to a therapist. However, it was such an easy promise to make, since he hadn’t been planning on stopping. So, he just said: “I promise.”

“Well, then I suppose we can give this another shot,” Jesus said. It was all Judas needed to finally cross the distance between them, cradle Jesus’ head in his hands and kiss him. Jesus’ arms circled around his waist, their bodies slotting together as easily and perfectly as they had always done.


	6. Not Sufficient Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite a bit shorter than they usually are and I'm really sorry. I'm simply not sure where I want to take this story and I felt that near the end that became super obvious and dragging it on would just have hurt the quality  
> (Also there may not be any updates for a little while as I figure out what I want to do with this story)

“Shit.”

James grinned at the utterance leaving Simon’s mouth. Simon let himself fall on top of James, something which James didn’t mind. At all. He unwrapped his legs from where they had been hooked around Simon’s waist. They stayed like that for a while, breathing in each other’s necks while sweat dried cold on their muscles.

James would have fallen asleep if Simon hadn’t rolled off of him. He considered falling asleep anyway, but the movement had woken him up too much for that. He groaned and draped an arm over his eyes to at least block out the light.

“Jesus and Judas are back together,” Simon said. James looked at it from under his arm. Simon was laying on his stomach, phone in his hands.

“What makes you think that?” James asked. Though, honestly, he hoped Simon was right for several reasons. Beginning with the fact that Jesus is more fun to work with when he and Judas are together, and ending with James just wanting his friend to be happy.

Simon held his phone out to James. James sighed and rolled onto his stomach, after which he grabbed the device, which was unlocked on the private messages between Simon and Judas. The last message, send by Judas, was only sent several minutes ago, though James didn’t remember hearing the sound. Maybe he had fallen asleep after all.

**_Judas:_ ** _I fucking hate you_

“What did you do?” James asked while handing Simon his phone back. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he was also curious. And he sincerely doubted it would make the list of questions James regretted asking anyway.

“Tricked Judas into driving to Jesus’ apartment,” Simon said with a grin that caused James to roll his eyes, though he couldn’t be bothered hiding his amusement.

“It’s really saying something that that’s all it took.”

Simon hummed in agreement. James reached over Simon to grab his own phone from the nightstand. “That reminds me.” He opened his private messages with Jesus. Jesus had sent him a picture of a news segment about the damage of some judge’s property. The picture itself was clearly of Simon. James held out the phone to Simon. “Why?”

Simon shrugged. “He was pretty much asking for it with those windows, be honest.”

“Alright, fair enough,” James admitted. He was aware that his definition of reasonable wasn’t the same as those of most people. In his definition, Simon tended to have that effect on people. “Why is it that you’re always cheering on at least half of these pictures?”

“Show me that,” Simon said while already taking James’ phone out of his hands. James decided to simply accept this and folded his arms on his pillow to put his head on it. “Oh, that was after we somehow broke both the window and several expensive looking and very ugly vases behind it in one go. It deserved a cheer.”

“Since when do you think any piece of furniture can be ugly?”

“Since I saw those breakable vases and had a pebble in my hand.”

James chuckled, the sound of it slightly muffled by his arms. “Fucking idiot.” To be fair, James had no doubt that the vases had genuinely been ugly. He simply didn’t think Simon had a right to judge anyone’s choice of vase, as he had several atrocious pieces of furniture himself. There was a particular chair that didn’t even deserve the term ‘ugly’.

“Guilty as charged.” Simon put away both their phones and leaned over James. He started kissing down James’ shoulder and back.

“Simon,” James groaned, “it’s half pas eleven.” Not that he wanted Simon to stop. Not really. Even if James had to get up on time the next morning to get to work and he knew he needed as much sleep as he could get. Especially after last night. None of those things seemed to matter an awful lot when Simon was sucking a hickey in his neck. Undoubtedly Simon’s intention.

“A correct observation, my friend,” Simon said, though his lips never left James’ skin.

James had half a mind to just give in right then and there and deal with the consequences when they came. If it weren’t for the headache he felt building behind his eyes. A consequence that would be far more annoying to deal with that simply being tired. So, he sighed and said: “Simon, I’m serious.”

Simon stopped at that, removing his head from James’ neck. “Boring.”

“I know,” James said while he rolled on his side and closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep on the spot. He heard Simon moving, soon followed by the blanket covering his body. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.” Simon settled behind James, an arm around his waist. His head rested against the back of James’ neck. Every breath trailed warm air down James’ back, soon falling into a steady rhythm.

They didn’t often fall asleep like this, though cuddling was far more likely to happen when falling asleep than at any other point in the day. That is to say, it rarely happened during the day. Despite that, James was too tired to fully appreciate it and he fell asleep within seconds.

The sound of a phone ringing, woke James up. It took him a while to realise it wasn’t his alarm going off (he wasn’t even sure he had remembered to set his alarm). It took him even longer to realise it definitely wasn’t morning yet.

Just when these realisations had manifested themselves in his brain, he felt Simon move away from behind him. James immediately regretted the loss of warmth on his back, if only because cold backs were far too annoying in his opinion. Especially when attempting to sleep.

“What time is it?” he asked, rolling onto his back to look at Simon, who was pulling a sweater over his head.

“Little past three,” Simon whispered. James groaned. Far too early.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Simon answered. “I’ll be right back.”

“Be quiet when you do so,” James said, even though he knew he would wake up no matter how quiet Simon would be. A combination of James being a light sleeper and Simon being incapable of being actually silent. Luckily, James tended to fall asleep easily, so he wouldn’t be too bothered by it. In fact, he already felt sleep tugging at him and he didn’t even hear Simon leave the room.

Maybe James was more tired than he though he was, because he didn’t remember hearing Simon come home. James didn’t even really remember waking up to his alarm (which thankfully he had set), nor did he remember having breakfast and his walk to the bookstore was a haze at best. Good thing those were all things he could do while half asleep.

When he entered the bookstore, he didn’t even bother turning on the lights before he went to the backroom to pour himself a cup of coffee. He was fairly certain he had already had coffee with his breakfast, but it evidently hadn’t been enough to wake him up.

By the time Jesus came in, James had turned on the light and was seated on the counter, halfway through his cup of coffee. James looked up and noticed that Jesus was wearing a faded pink-purple scarf. Or, as John had dubbed it, the hickey scarf. The scarf Jesus tended to wear when he wanted to hide any hickeys he had from the public eye. Not very subtle.

“So, Simon was right. You and Judas are back together,” James remarked. He hadn’t really doubted it. Or well, not more than one should always doubt anything Simon says. The confirmation was nice though. If the scarf hadn’t been enough confirmation, Jesus’ grin definitely was. James grabbed his phone and texted John with the update, knowing that through him, everyone else would inevitably know before noon.

“Please tell me you didn’t just text someone about this,” Jesus said, though the tone in his voice made it clear that he knew very well that’s exactly what James had done.

“I didn’t just text someone about this,” James said, even if he was texting the confirmation to Simon, who most definitely did not have a need for it.

Jesus groaned and dropped himself on the chair behind the counter, slumping forward with his arms on the counter. James sympathetically patted his shoulder. Honestly, Jesus should have seen this coming. He probably did. Secrets within their friend group tended to come out sooner rather than later and this wasn’t even a secret.

“So, does this mean we’re both suffering from sleep deprivation?” James asked, already knowing the answer would be yes.

“What? Simon kept you up too?”

“Two nights in a row,” James said, nodding. He decided not to add that it was technically Matthew who had been the cause of sleep deprivation for the first night. He wasn’t sure if Matthew would be comfortable with anyone else knowing and James definitely wasn’t going to make that decision for him.

James slid off of the counter to refill his mug and get one for Jesus as well. Clearly they were both going to need it. This was confirmed by the fact that Jesus eagerly grabbed the mug that James held out to him.

“This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?” Jesus sighed while he started blowing over his coffee. James himself had half a mind to start downing his coffee regardless of the fact that it was still too hot. He looked at the dark liquid, willing it to magically cool down.

“At least it’s Monday,” Jesus said.

“Please elaborate why that should make me glad,” James said while he sat down on the counter again. Probably something he shouldn’t be doing, but any regular ought to be used to him sitting cross legged on surfaces he shouldn’t be sitting on. And anyone else should either get used to it or accept that they were in bad luck.

“Unpacking the new books requires no brain capacity whatsoever,” Jesus answered. James had to admit that was true. Usually unpacking the books was their least favourite task and they tended to draw straws for who should do it. Of course, they could simply always do it together or take turns doing it. That’s how they used to do it, but they had gotten bored of it and decided that drawing straws was more fun.

“Alright, but I’m relying on you to know the alphabet,” James said, fully aware that he sucked at remembering the alphabet when fully awake. No way he could do so now.

“I can do that,” Jesus chuckled.


End file.
